Intertwined

Chapter 40: Touchy Enough So It's Authentic

S C A R

"Thank you so much for all of this, Scar," Jenny gets off of the bike as I'm parked in front of her house.

"No problem," I say. "Let me help you with that."

"Yeah thanks, us Italians, we're very passionate about food." She laughs and the pleasant weather, the warm orange-pink sky complimented her smile.

We leave the groceries on the porch, allowing her to catch a breath.

"I thought I heard you, caro," a lady, probably in her late 40s, steps out with a saccharine smile.

"Fuck," Jen whispers in a way only I can hear.

"Oh, it's so good to see you," the lady kisses Jenny on the cheek animatedly, squashing her in a hug.

"Zia Francesca, it's so nice to see you." Jenny says sweetly, looking at me mouthing 'kill-me-please'.

"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite cousin in the whole wide world," a boy, most probably our age, well Jenny's age (let's not compare him to my age, please), comes out the door. His curly hair frames his skinny physique and his shirt hangs on him like a coat on a rack. I can instantaneously tell I don't like him by the way Jenny's demeanor changes.

Dave stands behind him, giving me a slight nod. I mean, what were we supposed to do? We're fucking each other's siblings and haven't once had a proper conversation.

"Still haven't gotten a boyfriend, miele?" Francesca asks, slightly rudely, as thought proving some point in her head.

What a horrible person.

I continue to stand here awkwardly, wondering if I should go but before I can ask, Jenny grabs my collar, pulling me closer to her.

"No, I do have a boyfriend, the guy whose bike I was just on. Introduce yourself, baby," Jenny smiles, her eyes daring mine to deny what she just said.

Everyone looks at me expectantly when I don't reply.

What are you doing, Scar? Focus.

I place my arm around Jen's waist tightly and Dave raises an eyebrow. I speak up.

"My name's Scar, ma'am. Nice to meet you," I offer a hand to shake.

I can feel the relief radiating off of Jenny's body. Something shifts in Francesca's eyes.

"I'm Francesca," her previously absent accent rolls off of her tongue when she says her name. "But you can call me Franny. Oh my, you're so handsome, darling." Her blonde hair with graying streaks seemed dull and flat against her head.

"Franny," I put on my charming smile. "What a beautiful name."

She smiles slyly. "You're quite the angel, aren't you?" she giggles.

I smirk. "Something like that."

"You'll join us for dinner, won't you?" the boy asks, as though challenging me.

Even Dave seems annoyed now. "Why wouldn't he, Vito?"